In Loco Parentis
by Auntie Shred
Summary: An old case resurfaces with new problems. Alex Eames's POV. Spoilers for Magnificat, Betrayed and Kissinger. Continued in 'The Best Laid Schemes'.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: In Loco Parentis

**Author**: Auntie Shred

**Summary**: An old case resurfaces with new problems. Alex Eames's POV. Spoilers for Magnificat, Betrayed and Kissinger.

**Disclaimer**: The Law & Order characters are owned by Dick Wolf. No infringement of rights is intended. This story is written for entertainment purposes only.

Bobby was staring right through me. Ordinarily this wouldn't bother me at all. He had a way of gazing blankly into the distance while a conclusion was bubbling up through the La Brea tar-pit of his mind – but this was different. He looked furious.

I'd been on the phone with the ADA who was handling the Kathy Jarrow murder trial. She'd had me paging back and forth through the case file folder for at least thirty minutes. The last time I'd peeked up, Bobby was hunched over his desk with the phone cradled on his shoulder as he scribbled notes into his binder: nothing out of the ordinary.

I finally finished my call and stuffed the folder into the back of my drawer. I looked up at Bobby, ready to carp about the ADA's nit-picking, but was silenced by his fierce look. All of a sudden my cheeks felt too warm. In another second I realized his focus point was somewhere over my head, and I actually turned to look behind me – no one there.

"Bobby?" He didn't move a muscle, so I leaned forward and rapped my knuckles on the desk. That got me a blink. The frown faded as he noticed me. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Do we have a new case?"

"No, an old one."

They'd reopened one of our closed cases? I squinted across the squad room toward the captain's office. Ross was seated calmly at his computer. From this distance it looked like he was checking email. "Ross didn't…?"

"No." Bobby wheeled his chair around to my side, and rested his arm on the desktop as he leaned close. "You remember Leanne Colson?" he asked quietly. "Adam Whitlock's grandmother?"

"Of course I remember. You helped her get custody of Adam – away from that control freak of a father." We'd both testified at the custody hearing. Adam's mother, suffering from depression, had planted a bomb in her own car in an attempt to kill herself and her four young sons. Only she and Adam had survived.

Bobby shook his head. "All I did was put her in touch with a lawyer who helped her do that."

I poked his chest. "Don't contradict me when I'm complimenting you, Goren." He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged, which I interpreted as surrender. "Good boy. So," I said, "was that her on the phone? What got you so ticked off?"

"Yes, it was Mrs. Colson." He sighed deeply before continuing. "There's trouble with Paul Whitlock."

My imagination instantly suggested all sorts of dangerous possibilities: Adam's father was capable of harassment, lawsuit, threats, even kidnapping. "How bad?" I asked.

The anger came back into his eyes. "She's frightened. Panicking. Paul's trying to get the boy away from her into a private boarding school."

"But wasn't she named guardian, with full parental rights? He's got no say."

"Yes, but-" Bobby rose abruptly, and leaned over to his desk to grab his leather binder. "Let's see if there's a room free."

"It's that complicated?" I asked, standing as well.

"More like… I'm afraid you might blow up."

I'd turned away to see if anyone was using the nearest visitor office (two detectives were in there with a dreadlocked young man), but at Bobby's words I twisted to look at him. Was he kidding? No – his face was grim. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and then he headed toward the interrogation rooms. I felt my jaw muscles clenching as I followed him.

"Bobby? What is Whitlock doing?" I tried to keep my voice low.

He didn't answer right away, but checked the schedule posted near the door of the observation room. He flicked at the paper in annoyance. "Both rooms are booked starting at ten o'clock."

I checked the wall clock. "No good. It's quarter of ten now. Someone's in the video room, too. Let's go down to the caf." No response. Bobby was still studying the schedule. I tapped his arm. "Cafeteria? Or do you want to try the deli?"

"Yeah, okay – the caf's closer." He was already three long strides on his way to the elevators; I caught up to him just as the doors were sliding open. Unfortunately the elevator car was crowded, so we couldn't talk. I hadn't seen Bobby this agitated since his mother started chemo or his nephew Donny was sent back to Tates. My stomach felt like I'd swallowed a lead baseball by the time we reached our floor.

The cafeteria was mostly empty; three women were drinking coffee at one table, and they looked like they were getting ready to leave. We could hear tinny-sounding rock music coming out of the back – a kitchen worker's radio, probably. We went straight to a small table in the far corner and sat across from each other.

"Okay, tell me," I said, crossing my arms on the table. "From the beginning."

He flipped opened his binder, and in spite of my anxiety I felt a bit of comfort at that familiar move. I knew he didn't need to look at his notes, yet he relied on that worn-out thing like a security blanket. Who knows when I began to feel that way, too. We'd solved a lot of cases using those scribbled pages, and I had to hope we could find a way to help little Adam Whitlock and his grandma.

"At the custody hearing, about three and a half years ago, Paul was granted limited visitation rights," Bobby said. "He was allowed to see Adam at Mrs. Colson's home in Rochester or he could call: two weekends a month, supervised by her at all times. You know this part." He paused and I nodded for him to continue. "At first he pretty much disappeared; he hardly made contact except for child support payments. It's only this year that he started calling regularly.

"Adam's eleven now; he's in public school. Mrs. Colson says he's finally feeling comfortable there – he played little league this summer, and now soccer in the fall. He has some friends."

I'd intended to let Bobby tell his story straight through, but I was too eager to sit quietly. I touched his hand lightly. "Does he ask about his mother?"

He scratched his beard, and I knew the answer would be sad. "Doreen's retreated into herself completely," he said. "She's under suicide watch. It's not likely she'll leave the psych hospital anytime soon; maybe never."

"Oh."

"Adam, he - he knows about her. He misses his brothers. Mrs. Colson takes him to a counselor. He went through all the phases: grief, anger, guilt – you know."

With an elbow on the table, I rested my chin on my palm. How much did Bobby see of himself in this poor kid? The mother had checked out mentally; the father in all other ways. It was part of Bobby's incredible gift for detective work that he could understand people on a deep level, but it came at a high cost to his own emotional state. I sent up a quick prayer that he wouldn't be hurt by all this.

Our eyes met for a few moments. I think he guessed part of what I was thinking, because he shook his head the tiniest bit.

I said softly, "At least Adam's got his Grandma he can count on."

"That's a lot." He looked down at his notes, though I doubt he was seeing anything on the page. "So, um..." he said after a long pause, "Paul. He moved to Philadelphia as soon as the divorce was final, and got a new job at an engineering company there."

"With no inconvenient family to hold him back from promotion this time."

"He remarried."

That floored me. What woman would sign away control of her life? To that creep! "Please tell me you're joking."

Bobby shook his head and went on tersely. "Six months after the divorce – to a much younger woman."

"This kills me," I said, thumping my fist on the table. "It wasn't enough he devastated one family? He has to start over?"

"Well, they have no children after three years, so perhaps Paul's interested in Adam again-"

"-because perhaps the new Mrs. Whitlock can't have children," I finished his sentence. We nodded together. "And now he wants to drag poor Adam back for another try at forming his character. I guess that's where the private school comes in. What a selfish, egotistical..." I stopped myself before I cursed; I took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "You were right about me blowing up. What exactly happened to frighten Mrs. Colson?"

Bobby rubbed his hands as though he was cold, but I knew this habit was one of his outlets for nervous energy. He was upset, too. "Paul called them last week, and at first it was a normal call."

"Whatever normal is for him," I added. The man had been insufferable four years ago, and my feelings hadn't softened.

"He asked about Adam's grades and things like that. He's usually very cool, detached. He doesn't stay on the line long. When they were expecting him to hang up, he suddenly said he wanted to enroll Adam in a private school near Philadelphia." Bobby checked his notes. "It's called York Valley Academy in Bucks County."

"Out of the blue like that?" I said. "He didn't say anything to Mrs. Colson in advance?"

"No, she had no warning. She told me she was too surprised to react before Paul had hung up."

"Wait a sec," I said abruptly as a thought occurred to me. "You got all this information, all this background, in one phone call just now? And why did she call here?"

Bobby looked away with a sheepish look, and I instantly understood.

"You've been in touch with her before today," I said.

His eyes met mine long enough to transmit a Yes.

I leaned back in my chair and smiled at him, remembering the day in court when Bobby introduced her to his lawyer buddy – a man who specialized in children's rights. That had been the only hopeful note in a long sad case. I'd been so proud of him. It had felt great to see the respect in Mr. Carver's face as he watched.

"Just a few letters over the years," Bobby said quietly. He got to his feet and shifted restlessly.

"Hey," I said, reaching up to pat his arm, "I'm glad you wrote her, because now we can help. First thing she needs to remember: Paul doesn't get to make decisions like this for Adam."

"I know," he said, doing his mini-pacing beside the table. "I told her that."

"Good. We should look up the terms of the custody decision just to be sure."

"Eames, the thing that scared Mrs. Colson was Adam's response," Bobby said. "All the time he's lived in Rochester he's never shown any interest in being with his father. But since the phone call he's been talking about it, telling her he wants to go to that school, to be near his father."

"I wonder if Paul found a way to influence Adam before this phone call – that'd be a violation of his visitation restrictions."

"It's possible," Bobby said, straightening the papers in his leather binder, then closing it. He rested his palms on the table and looked straight at me. "But maybe Adam has been longing for his father. It's natural for boys to seek male adult leadership and approval."

"Yeah," I said, thinking again of Bobby's own lonely youth.

Bobby continued, "Before Paul's phone call, he might have concealed his feelings from Mrs. Colson out of a desire not to worry her."

"If only Paul was so considerate," I said, feeling anger building again in me. "He really can't pass up an opportunity to manipulate, can he?"

"I, uh, I told Mrs. Colson I'd visit this Thursday."

I stood to face him. "Did you tell her I'd come, too?" I asked. If he said no, I was ready to grab his lapels and shake him hard. No way was I going to let him go off on his own, even if this wasn't strictly departmental work.

He read my mind easily; he backed away, tilting his head and holding up both hands. "I would have, but I didn't get a chance before she asked about you. We're invited for lunch."

"Good," I said. "You know, we need to tell the captain about this."

Bobby immediately reached to rub the back of his neck. He made a sour face. "I know," he said. "It's just that I'm never sure if he's going to back me up or... or suspend me. Ever since we arrested his friend Kathy Jarrow, he only talks to me when he has to. I'm always – I don't know, on eggshells around him."

"I haven't figured him out, either. I don't think it's you – well, okay – some of it is you."

He looked at me with a poor attempt at a grin, looking more guilty than amused, and I was sorry I'd taken even a little jab at him.

I continued quickly, "But not entirely. Hey, not even mostly. There's definitely something going on with Ross. Bobby, I'm done judging you. I'm on your side here."

I breathed easy again when he nodded and gave me a tiny but real smile. I said, "Anyway, this should be safe - it doesn't involve anyone he ever knew. We can brief him on the history and tell him we just want to check on Mrs. Colson and Adam. We don't have an active case at the moment, so he should be fine with that."

"And if not?"

I winked at him. "And if not, then we're still off duty that day, and there's no reason we can't take a drive upstate to see the fall foliage."


	2. Chapter 2

Bobby was quite the chatterbox during our trip to Rochester Thursday morning. For one thing, the captain's positive response – even encouragement – had been a welcome surprise. Beyond that, Bobby and I felt a lot freer with each other since we made peace after his return from suspension. I couldn't say we were back to our normal comfort level, but we were heading in the right direction, and it felt good.

He'd shaved for the first time in weeks. Bobby looks good in a beard, but I've always preferred the clean shaven look. I teased him about having a baby face, and congratulated myself when he blushed. That small triumph, plus a stop at one of our favorite coffee shops, made up for having to meet at One PP in the freezing cold before the crack of dawn. It also helped that the weather was perfect for a long drive. Whatever the cause, I was ready to go along with the upbeat mood.

I knew we were in a bubble, and it would probably pop in a nasty way, but at the moment I was going to make the most of his company. Bobby and I deserved some happy experiences.

He told me what he knew of Adam and his grandma and their life in Rochester. As long as we were discussing them and not Paul it was easier to stay optimistic. They'd come through a horrible situation - the murder of Adam's three younger brothers and separation from both his parents - and had slowly rebuilt their little family.

"Mrs. Colson relies heavily on her faith," Bobby said. "They get a lot of support from her church."

"I bet Paul's torqued out of shape over that, but I'm glad for her and Adam," I said. "Is he an altar boy? I can see him in a little white robe, lighting the candles and all that." I grinned and glanced over at Bobby. "I bet you were a cute altar boy, weren't you?"

Bobby immediately started fidgeting in his seat. "I, uh, was a lot of trouble."

"Oh, there's a shocker." He looked nervous – afraid I'd make him tell childhood stories. Not today. I wasn't about to spoil our relaxed mood. I continued teasing. "It's always the cute ones with their angelic faces that make the most trouble for the priest – my brothers, for instance."

He laughed quietly, and I didn't press the subject any further. We drove in silence for several miles. We'd long since left the city and suburbs, and were passing through farmland. Along the side of the highway herds of grazing cows alternated with small shopping centers and huge billboards advertising resort hotels or country restaurants.

"Hey, Eames?" Bobby said. "When we get closer, let's stop at a farm stand and get a basket of apples for Mrs. Colson."

"Good idea," I said. "I should bring some back for my sister, too. She loves Winesap apples, but can't always find them at the grocery store."

"Winesap? What are they like?" he asked.

"They're kind of tart, but not like Macs," I said. Funny, I'd half expected him to be an expert on apples, as he was on nearly every other subject in the world. I was sure he'd study up as soon as we got home.

"What kind should we give Mrs. Colson?" he asked.

"Don't sweat it," I said. "We'll see what they have at the farm stand. As long as they're not mushy or full of worms we can't go wrong."

"Okay, good."

"Now I'm hungry for an apple," I said, trying to sound grumpy – but Bobby only chuckled at me. He went back to watching the scenery.

After another few cycles of cows, silos, malls and billboards, he opened his leather binder and began shuffling through the papers. "We have to hope Adam is willing to talk with us," he said. "If you're right that Paul contacted him, then he's been coached to keep it secret."

"Poor kid," I said, "he shouldn't have to choose between his father and his grandmother. Hasn't he been through enough? That really steams me."

"I know." Bobby's voice was soft.

"What is it with parents who treat their children like... I don't know, like luggage - something you stick in a closet until it's useful."

Bobby was shifting restlessly in his seat. "They don't look beyond their own needs, their own ambitions."

"It's more than ambition. I mean, we're all selfish to some extent. I don't expect people to be perfect," I added, trying to explain my anger. I glanced over at Bobby, and he nodded. "But if Paul cared about his son, wouldn't he work with Mrs. Colson instead of going against her?"

"That would mean giving up control to her," he replied.

"So, he manipulates Adam's feelings just to show Mrs. Colson who's in charge? If he has been contacting him secretly, just imagine the strain it puts on the kid."

"Then again, if this is coming out of Adam's own feelings of missing a father – maybe from seeing his school friends with their fathers - he probably recognizes that it would upset his grandmother to talk about it too openly."

"True," I said. "Either way, there should be plenty of evidence to tell us what's going on. Eleven year-old kids – boys especially – they're not clever about hiding things from adults."

"You're speaking from personal experience?"

I knew he was trying to lighten our mood with teasing, and I was glad to go along. "Have I mentioned I have three brothers? It took them so much longer than me and my sister to learn how to keep our parents from finding out exactly what they were doing."

"You mean... altar boy trouble?" I could see his smile out of the corner of my eye.

"Oh, that was just the tip of the iceberg. Think Titanic."

-*- -*- -*-

I was right: the bubble of calm we rode in all the way to Rochester burst soon after we pulled into Mrs. Colson's driveway. She'd obviously been watching for us; she hurried down the front steps as we got out of the car, looking as though she hadn't slept recently.

She went straight to Bobby. He began to offer the bag of apples (we'd decided on Cortlands at the recommendation of the farm stand lady), but Mrs. Colson reached up and gave him a big kiss on his cheek.

"You dear man!" She kissed his other cheek just as energetically.

I was standing there enjoying the bright red tint on Bobby's face when she turned on me. Not only did she kiss me, but she hugged me so hard I felt my ribs flex. "I can't thank you enough for coming!" she said in a choked voice, and then her tears began.

I felt sorry for her, and a little guilty. Bobby and I had spent most of our time discussing Adam, but I now realized that Mrs. Colson needed help as much as her grandson, even if it was only someone to talk to. She probably wasn't able to tell her family's problems to many people. I hugged her in return.

In another minute she recovered. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief Bobby had given her. "I certainly didn't mean to welcome you by crying all over you. Please come inside."

"There's no need to apologize, Mrs. Colson," Bobby said. He gently took her arm and led her to the front door.

"Actually," I added, "that was one of the nicest greetings we've had in a long time."

As we entered the house a delicious smell surrounded us: I guessed chicken soup. On the dining room table I saw a loaf of bread that looked as though it came out of a bread maker; it added its own mouth-watering aroma. I had a bread maker collecting dust in the back of a closet; I'd never made anything this good.

Bobby and I had agreed to persuade Mrs. Colson to put off talking about her current troubles by asking about Adam's arrival at her home three and a half years ago.

However, she'd barely hung up our coats when she blurted out, "Adam wants me to let him go to that school. He said – it was at breakfast this morning, and he - he told me I shouldn't keep him apart from his father any more." She choked on the last few words.

So much for easing into the problem gradually.

"Why don't we sit down?" Bobby said. He held out his hand toward the dining room, where the table was set for three. "You can tell us all about it. The law is on your side, Mrs. Colson – you have full custody of Adam."

As we took our seats I said, "You're not keeping them apart. If Paul wants to see him, he already has two weekends a month to come here."

She nodded. "I know, but when Adam talked to me in that demanding way I didn't know what to say."

It took a bit of doing, but we did get her to fill in the events of hers and Adam's lives. We knew their story wouldn't be all upbeat, but she'd clearly done her best to help Adam through his terrible loss. I admired this quiet woman who was willing to disrupt her own life to rescue her grandson's.

Until recently she thought she was succeeding.

"Adam is a Boy Scout," she said with a proud smile. "His troop meets at our church. I'll have to show you all his badges and awards. Last spring he told me he wants to earn the Eagle Scout award. He and his scoutmaster planned out everything he needs to do, year by year."

"That's great," Bobby said. He didn't look at me, but I felt his foot nudge mine under the table. We both knew there was a "but" coming.

"Has he been working on it?" I asked.

"Yes – that is, he was," she said, suddenly losing enthusiasm. "In the past month, though, he always has some excuse why he can't."

Bobby reached for another slice of bread. "Do you think it's because he's busy with his friends, or with sports? Sometimes children change their interests."

"Well, that's what I thought," she said, "and I told him it would be all right if he changed his mind. He insists he wants to do it, but whenever I bring it up he's vague and nervous. Sometimes he gets angry and even... well, rude."

"Has he changed any habits?" I asked.

"There've been days when he didn't come straight home after school, and I couldn't get him to tell me where he'd been."

I leaned forward as I asked, "Is he hanging around with different kids at school?" It wasn't likely Adam was running with the drug crowd at eleven years old, but we had to check that possibility.

"No, he has the same friends – very nice boys. They're Boy Scouts, too. Maybe this is a phase he's going through? It's really not like him at all." Her voice trailed off sadly.

No, it was like Paul. I understood her feelings of panic.

Bobby met my eyes for a brief moment, and I gave him a small nod to go ahead with the ideas we'd discussed. He turned back to her. "If Adam is hiding something from you – something to do with Paul - it would account for his secretive, defensive behavior."

"Something he thinks you won't approve of," I added. "Do you remember exactly when this started? Was it before Paul's phone call about the boarding school?"

"Yes," she said, "in fact it was just after Adam's eleventh birthday, a little more than a month ago – his birthday was on the ninth."

Bobby pulled his leather folder into his lap and took out the pen. "Mrs. Colson, Alex and I can only speak as friends. Unless we find that Paul has broken the terms of custody, it's not a police matter. You understand?"

"Yes, I do" she said, wringing her hands, "but I appreciate whatever help you can give us. I don't want to lose Adam."

She was on the verge of tears again, so we waited a minute for her to regroup.

I realized I was smiling at Bobby. He almost never used my first name in our own conversations, which I didn't mind – I knew it was about showing me respect and keeping our work relationship professional – but it felt nice when he relaxed enough to say Alex. I wiped the silly grin off my face before either of them noticed. That would have been awkward to explain!

"Do you think - could we see those Boy Scout awards?" Bobby asked.

Mrs. Colson jumped at the distraction, and led us down the hallway.

The rest of the house looked about the same as it had three years ago, but Doreen's bedroom had been redecorated for Adam. The ugly brown wallpaper was painted over with a bright blue, and he'd put up the usual little boy posters: athletes, racing cars and cartoon heroes. My nephew had the same stuff in his room. There was one religious picture on the dresser of Jesus with some children. It sat next to a hinged display of Adam's large collection of Boy Scout patches and pins – this kid really was serious about making Eagle Scout.

We learned that Adam walked part of the way home from school with a buddy, and the last few blocks alone. Mrs. Colson had no computer in her home, but the school and public library had internet access freely available. There were plenty of opportunities for Paul to make contact with the boy, either in person or by email.

"Mrs. Colson," Bobby said, turning from where he'd been looking out the window, "as a precaution you need to notify the police and the school that Paul might try to meet with Adam in violation of the custody settlement. Do you have a picture of Paul to show them?"

"Yes, I have a picture of the family from before the, umm... It's of all of them. Will that do?" she asked.

"That'll be fine," I said, silently thanking Bobby for not bringing up the possibility of kidnapping. "We can get it done this afternoon."

She was thanking us again when her telephone rang; she hurried to answer it.

I leaned close to Bobby and whispered, "When we talk to the police and school, we won't mention in front of her that Paul might try to snatch the boy. No sense in freaking her out without clear evidence."

He nodded and gestured around the bedroom. "I wonder if there's something here from Paul that Adam didn't have a month ago." Bobby looked as though he was ready to reach into his pockets for latex gloves or an evidence bag – I had to admit I had the same itch. He pointed to the window. "A first-floor bedroom with easy access in and out. He's got a clear view to the nearest street corner, too."

I was at the window when Mrs. Colson rushed back into the room. "That was the school," she said. "Adam's feeling sick, and I need to pick him up." She'd been anxious and hesitant during our discussion, but now, even though concerned, she looked confident – this was a problem she knew how to handle.

As we followed her back to the living room Bobby said, "We'd like to come with you. Why don't you get that family picture, and we can talk to the principal about Paul while we're there."

"What's wrong with Adam?" I asked when she returned with the framed photo.

"They said he threw up, and then after he got to the nurse's office he had a bad nosebleed." She handed us our coats and went back to the front closet to pull out her own.

Bobby casually asked, "Mrs. Colson, did Adam know we were coming today?"

"Oh yes," she replied. "He always loves to read your letters. He remembers you both fondly, you know. I told him last night that you'd be visiting us."

Another quick look passed between Bobby and me. He held my coat for me. As he straightened my collar he leaned close to my ear to whisper, "Vomiting and nosebleed could be signs of stress in a child."

"Poor little guy," I replied.

"Mrs. Colson," Bobby said as we went out the door, "let's go in our car. You – uh, you can take care of Adam better if you don't have to drive."

As I drove the short distance to the middle school, Bobby asked her about Adam's soccer team, keeping the conversation light. At one point he softly touched my elbow; he kept talking to Mrs. Colson but tilted his head toward a Dunkin' Donuts shop. He couldn't be asking to stop for a snack? Not after I'd just watched him demolish most of that homemade loaf. I finally got it when he repeated the subtle tap and nod toward a convenience store: these were places Paul might have waited to intercept Adam on his way home. I gave him a tiny nod to show I understood. We'd come back to these stores with Paul's picture.

We signed in at the front office, where a secretary asked us to wait for the nurse. She showed up in a few minutes, carrying a boy's jacket and backpack – Adam's, apparently, since Mrs. Colson reached for them.

The nurse introduced herself as Ms. Falkenheim, and led us down the hall to her office. "He has no fever," she said over her shoulder to us, "and he felt much better once his tummy was empty." Her voice was sugary in an annoying way. The woman was just too brisk and cheery for me. "I wouldn't worry, Mrs. Colson. We see this kind of thing now and then when there's a big test coming up."

We reached her office, and she ushered Mrs. Colson inside. I started to follow, but tripped over Bobby – he'd suddenly halted, staring at the floor. I grabbed his arm until I got my balance; meanwhile the door swung shut.

"What?" I said. "You afraid of school nurses? This place does have that sickening antiseptic smell." I wrinkled up my nose.

Bobby was now gazing off down the hallway, rubbing the back of his head. Something was brewing in his mind; I'd learned long ago to let him follow his thoughts until he came back to earth. He finally reached out to open the door for me. "Sorry. Let's go in."

When we got inside we found Mrs. Colson and the nurse gaping at an empty cot. There were wads of bloody tissues scattered on the cot and floor. Ms. Falkenheim didn't look quite as brisk.

"Sooo... Where's Adam?" I asked.


	3. Chapter 3

The school nurse slowly turned toward us. Obviously she wasn't used to losing fifth-graders. She'd turned pale, and I had a guilty urge to laugh at the absolutely flummoxed look on her face. But I squashed that impulse in a second when Mrs. Colson sank down onto the cot, looking kind of pale as well.

The nurse said, "I told Adam to wait right here while I went for his coat and knapsack." Her voice sounded more normal now – not so perky - and I liked her better. "His nosebleed hadn't quite stopped yet, and he was resting."

"Why would he run away?" Mrs. Colson asked. She was holding Adam's things tightly against her chest.

"I don't think he did," Bobby said. "Eames..."

I felt myself tugged by the elbow back out into the hall. I asked Bobby, "You think he got sick again and ran for the boys' room?" I finally let myself smile at the situation.

Bobby grinned, too. "The tissue box in there was empty..." He pointed to the floor, and I saw what he'd been staring at earlier: small blotches of blood leading down the hall.

"Huh!" I said. "His sleeve wasn't good enough? Unusual boy."

As we followed the trail I could see fainter spots that showed a bit of sneaker print, while some were big, round fresh drops. Bobby had guessed right.

"Here," I said, pointing to the door labeled "BOYS". A short, skinny boy came out as we approached. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he looked up at Bobby.

"Jeffrey?" Mrs. Colson had followed us, and she stepped beside me to talk to the boy. "Is Adam in there?"

Jeffrey was still staring at Bobby; he hadn't heard Mrs. Colson at all. His eyes flicked over to me for a second, and then back to Bobby. He asked, "Are you the police from New York City? The ones Adam knew before he moved here?"

I wondered what Adam had told his friend about us, but it didn't seem to be bad. The boy was completely in awe.

"That's right," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder and guiding him up the hall. "I'm Detective Eames. Why don't you come on with me and Mrs. Colson." Jeffrey obeyed, but he looked back at Bobby entering the boys' room. "That's my partner, Detective Goren," I said. "Adam will be fine. He's not in trouble, Jeffrey. Neither are you."

I was afraid the class bell would ring and send a flood of middle schoolers onto us, so we headed back into the nurse's office. She offered to wait outside the boys' room for Adam. Mrs. Colson sat in the desk chair, and Jeffrey plopped down on the cot, ignoring the bloody tissues all around him.

He was fascinated with my gun and shield, so I let him hold the shield while we talked. Bobby often did that with children, and though it didn't seem like much to me, it was obviously a big deal to Jeffrey.

"So," I began, "you're a Boy Scout, right?"

"Yeah, me and Adam are in the same troop. You know, I want to be a cop when I grow up."

"Good, that's good. I'm going to need your help here, Jeffrey. I told you Adam's not in trouble, but he may be in danger." The boy's face was serious, but not shocked – either Adam had told him something or he'd figured it out on his own.

"I just have a few questions," I said. "If you don't know, that's fine. But whatever you can tell us may help Adam a lot. Okay?"

"Okay."

I kept it short, and Jeffrey seemed honest in his answers. Yes, he'd seen a change in Adam recently: he was "zoned out" sometimes, and more likely to lose his temper. No, he hadn't noticed anyone watching them on their way home from school. Yes, Adam had ditched him a few times to walk home alone, but he never saw him with anyone. Yes, Adam mentioned his father now and then: he knew Adam's parents were divorced, that his mother was sick, and that his father lived in Philadelphia. No, Adam hadn't told him of any big plans recently.

I was thanking Jeffrey for his help when the door opened. The nurse entered, and then Bobby walked in with his hand on Adam's shoulder. Bobby kept his face neutral; if he'd learned anything critical from Adam he wasn't letting on yet.

Adam still had a round, cute little-boy face, but in the three plus years since I'd seen him, he'd grown tall. His shirt, jeans and sneakers were spotted with blood; his face and hands were clean – he'd washed at Bobby's suggestion, I was sure.

Adam's eyes went first to his grandmother. "I'm okay, Grandma," he said. "Sorry."

"Oh honey," she said, reaching out to touch his cheek, "it's not your fault. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah." He looked embarrassed – a totally normal reaction, though there might have been guilt, too.

"Hi, Adam," I said. "Do you remember me?" He said yes and politely held out his hand - I bet Bobby had suggested that, too. We shook hands as I continued, "You've grown a lot. I'm glad I'm wearing heels today, because we're probably about the same height."

Ms. Falkenheim said, "You're excused for the rest of the day, Adam. I brought your things."

Adam quickly grabbed his backpack from the cot and clutched it tightly as the nurse wrote a note for Jeffrey and sent him back to class. I glanced at Bobby – he'd seen it, too: there was something in the backpack Adam didn't want us to know about.

-*- -*- -*-

Bobby took the back seat with Adam for the ride home. I retraced our route, and slowed down as we passed the convenience store and Dunkin' Donuts. I couldn't see Adam in the rear view mirror, so I had to swallow my impatience to know if he was interested in those places. Bobby would tell me later.

At the house, Mrs. Colson pointed Adam to his room, telling him to change into clean clothes. However, as Adam headed for the hallway, Bobby hooked one finger into the strap of Adam's backpack and lifted it off his shoulder. Adam grabbed for it with the same panicky expression I'd seen earlier, but it was already out of reach.

"I – I need that!" he said, sounding out of breath. "It, uh, has my homework."

Bobby held it up, still dangling from his finger. "It'll be right here for you. Don't worry - we won't touch it. You go on now."

Mrs. Colson called out from the kitchen, "Don't put those clothes in the hamper, Adam! Bring them here to me so I can start them soaking."

Bobby dropped the backpack onto the couch. I knew he'd give Adam an opportunity to be honest with us about the contents. We probably only had a minute or two until Mrs. Colson rejoined us, so I leaned close and asked if Adam had reacted when we passed the two shops.

"It's the convenience store," he replied quietly. "He didn't even register that I was watching him while he scanned the parking lot. He practically had his nose pressed up against the window."

"What did I tell you about eleven year-olds keeping secrets?" I said. "But that means he's expecting to see Paul today. No wonder the kid was so stressed out, knowing we were here, too. Did he say anything to you in the boys' room?"

"I didn't press him – he was pretty upset. Very apologetic." Bobby leaned even closer and whispered. "If Paul arranged to meet him today, it would be later – after school. It's not even two o'clock yet."

That thought made me angry and scared. Who knows what that creep was planning? "Adam might have ended up on a milk carton, Bobby. We need to be at that convenience store."

Bobby nodded, but lightly grasped my wrist, as though he thought I'd run right out the door that minute. "First Adam and Mrs. Colson. Then we pay a visit to the police with Paul's picture."

"Right. Then Mr. Whitlock. Think he'll buy me a burrito?"


	4. Chapter 4

"It's three-thirty – he's not going to show." The Rochester cop tossed his empty coffee cup into a trashcan. We'd been in a lot across the street from the convenience store, watching customers come and go for forty-five minutes with no sign of Paul Whitlock.

"I think you're right," Bobby said. "Thanks for your help, Sergeant Brower. We'll be in touch if we learn anything else."

"Same here," he replied. He shook hands with both of us, and held up the copy of the photo we'd given him. "If Mr. Whitlock turns up we'll let you know."

Bobby and I watched as Brower and his partner climbed into their unmarked police sedan and pulled out of the parking lot.

"I wonder what happened," I said, leaning on the hood of our car. "Adam was clearly expecting him. Do you think Whitlock made us?"

He shrugged. "It's possible. I doubt Adam had a chance to let him know we were coming – if they even have a way of communicating."

"Yeah, that part's a mystery," I said. "He swore there were no emails between them, and I believe him."

"So do I."

It had been clear Adam wanted us to like him – especially Bobby. At his request Adam had brought out the display of his Boy Scout awards and had proudly shown them to us. He'd even talked about his Eagle Scout plans, smiling up at us with his big brown eyes.

However, when Bobby asked him to open the backpack I thought Adam was going to bolt, or maybe throw up again. Bobby was very kind – he sat next to him, patting his back and reassuring him he wasn't in trouble. I began to wonder if he had a gun or drugs in there.

After all that build-up, the secret stash items were a pen, a ball cap and a tee-shirt, all with the logo of York Valley Academy, the private school where Paul wanted to enroll him.

Adam admitted the things were from his father, that the convenience store was their meeting point, and that he thought there would be a visit today. Paul had first surprised him during his walk home on the day after his birthday.

When all this came out, Mrs. Colson began crying again, which turned out to be a good thing, because Adam started sniffling, too. I was glad to see he had a soft heart; all that Boy Scout training in honesty and courtesy had sunk in. It wasn't hard to get him to promise not to have any more secret meetings, and to postpone discussion of the private school. In fact, he looked relieved with that arrangement.

The difficult part was explaining to Adam why his father wasn't free to see him whenever he wanted. Bobby picked a good angle to approach it: only one person could be in charge, and he had to follow one set of rules, or else he'd be pulled in different directions. Adam seemed to understand - he'd been living it for a month. All that deception taught him a hard lesson.

But beyond that, how do you tell a child his father's not to be trusted, or that his father hated his mother, and didn't lift a hand to help her out of depression or prevent her suicide attempt?

Now, standing across the street from the convenience store, my anger boiled up again. Paul's cheesy souvenir-shop gifts weren't worth a fraction of the trouble they were causing.

"So," I said, "from what Adam told us it looks like Paul's making a round trip one or two times a week. How can he manage that?"

Bobby shrugged. "Doesn't he have to be at work?" He started to pace back and forth, tapping his fingers against his mouth.

"Philadelphia to Rochester is four or five hours," I said. "I got the impression these secret rendezvous weren't very long. A whole day of traveling for ten minutes with Adam?"

He paused in front of me. "Ten minutes is all that Adam knows about."

"Hmm! You think Paul has a work-related reason to come this way?"

"That would be more than coincidental," he said, opening his binder on the car hood and making a note. "We need to check with his employer."

"And let's see about getting a subpoena to pull his phone logs and credit card reports – I think we can persuade the ADA. Oh, and his Motor Vehicle records."

Bobby froze with his pen on the paper. When he didn't move for nearly half a minute I nudged him. "What?"

"There's something else we need to check." He slapped the binder closed and started jogging across the street to the Quick-Stop. I had to smile: some things never change.

We'd talked to the convenience store manager earlier: he recognized Paul, but couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him. He'd given Sergeant Brower his security tapes, which extended back six days. Brower promised to send copies to us at Major Case.

When I caught up with him, Bobby was staring into the security camera mounted on the roof. He was stepping back and forth and squatting down beside the cars parked there to figure out the camera angle. Whoever was watching the screens inside was getting quite a show. Bobby finally finished his inspection and opened the store's front door for me.

I followed him to the back of the store where the manager had a closet-sized office with a one-way mirror for him to keep an eye on customers. He'd obviously seen us coming, because he stepped out just as we reached the door.

"Hi," Bobby said, "I have a couple more questions."

"No problem," he said, joining us in the aisle. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Do you get much out-of-state business? Pennsylvania?"

"Oh yes, plenty," the manager said. "Other states, too – Ohio, Wisconsin, everywhere. Canadians, too."

"And the license plates show up on the security tapes?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, sir, they should."

Bobby nodded. "Um, do you generally notice which customers are from out of state?"

The manager thought about it for a moment. "Not unless they ask directions, or buy maps - something like that. There's been no one like that recently."

"Okay, thanks." Bobby was already turning as he spoke. I backed up quickly to keep us from colliding and probably bringing down the display of breath mints and gum.

I led the way back to our car, where I asked, "Wanna share?"

He looked at me intently, a look that always sparks off my curiosity. He said, "We were only watching for a man in a car with Pennsylvania plates. What if Paul sent his wife?"

"Ooh, stepmother! That would mean Paul's got her under his thumb, if he can send her on ten-hour errands. But," I said, "Adam didn't mention her at all."

"I know," Bobby said. "Well, Mrs. Colson asked us to stop in before we head for home. Maybe Adam will open up a little more once we tell him his father didn't show."

"Hey, that reminds me," I said. "You were really good with him."

Bobby looked away and started to fidget. Talk about tells and body language! Bobby was the easiest person in the world to read. I ignored his embarrassment. "I mean it. I thought he was going to clam up on us, but you made him feel safe."

He mumbled something like, "Anybody could have done it," and I felt like smacking him. If he still didn't know how to accept my compliments, I wasn't going to give lessons.

"Let's go." I opened the driver's door, climbed in, and slammed the door shut.

I guess Bobby could read my body language, too. As soon as he got in he reached over to grab the steering wheel before I could put the car in gear. "Thank you," he said quietly. I waited until he let go, then I nodded just once. He was learning after all.

-*- -*- -*-

"So," Bobby said, glancing over at me, "do you want to?"

His words startled me out of my trance. When he'd offered to drive home I accepted, at least for the first leg of the trip. We'd been quiet for a long stretch since leaving Rochester, and my mind had been wandering. I shifted in my seat, rolled my shoulders, and tried to recall the last thing we'd talked about.

"Umm..." I said, "do I want to what? Stop for dinner? Dust off my bread maker when I get home? Eat one of those Winesap apples right now?"

His quiet chuckle gave me a smile. "Interesting how your mind went right to food, Eames."

I took a deep breath. "You have to admit: the smell of fresh-picked apples beats a car freshener any day." I stretched into the back for an apple, but I had to unclick my seat belt, twist sideways and lean way over to reach the bag on the floor. My side was pressed up against Bobby's arm, and I felt him nudge me lightly. "Don't even think of pushing me over," I said, "or you're never driving again."

He laughed. "I'm just trying to stay on the road here."

I came up with two apples, re-fastened the seat belt, and started polishing them on my pant legs. "What was it you asked me?"

He held out his hand for an apple. "Do you want to go to Rochester again?"

"Well, we've got a load of research to do on Paul and his new wife, so we might need to make a trip to Philadelphia first. But sure, I'm in for another visit with Mrs. Colson and Adam. I like them." I took a bite of my apple – it gave a satisfying, crisp snap.

"This is good," Bobby said, holding up his apple. Nearly a quarter of it was gone already. "Let's bring her Winesaps next time."

The idea of another visit was pleasant, but only if we didn't have to worry about more trouble from Paul – and now from his wife, Allison. Adam had admitted that she'd accompanied Paul once and had come once on her own. I said, "The way I see it, Paul's determined to get his son back, and he won't give up just because we found out what he's been doing. He'll change tactics."

"Did you... did you get the feeling Adam was holding back something?" Bobby asked. He took a huge bite of his apple.

"When we came back from the convenience store? Maybe, but I thought it was relief that his father hadn't been caught – disaster avoided, you know?"

Bobby shook his head slowly as he chewed and swallowed. "There's something else."

"What, another tee-shirt? A hoodie?"

"No, it was..." Bobby glanced over at me. "He was afraid we were going to ask one particular question, and was relieved when we didn't. Asking him about Paul's new wife didn't seem to bother him – it's something else."

I tried to recall Adam's words and behavior. "Yeah, he did seem cautious. So, he wasn't going to offer the information because it would get him and his father in more trouble?"

"I think so. He understands his father shouldn't have been going behind Mrs. Colson's back, but he still has that natural desire to be with him. He wants to have it both ways."

"In that case, I see more nosebleeds in Adam's future."

It was getting close to sunset, and we agreed to stop for dinner nearer to the city. In the meantime I finished my apple, then tilted my seat back and tried to catch a quick nap.

My cell phone woke me. I fumbled around getting the thing out of my pocket. It was fully dark, and the orange glow of street lights told me we'd reentered the urban zone – Bobby had let me sleep a long time. I cleared my throat as I looked at the caller ID display.

"It's Ross," I said. Couldn't be good news. I hit the Talk button. "Eames."

I had to scramble to find my note pad in my purse. Bobby turned on the dome light for me to write down the information Captain Ross was giving me.

"Okay, hang on a sec." I held the phone against my chest and asked Bobby, "How far out are we? We have to get to Central Park, Upper East Side."

"We're almost to Jersey City," he replied. "I'll swing up the Turnpike to the Lincoln Tunnel. Thirty minutes, maybe less with lights and sirens."

I repeated it to Ross and closed the phone with a deep sigh.

"We've got a murder. A man was walking in the park, pushing his kid in a stroller," I said. "He was shot and killed. The baby was unharmed. The guy was some big shot Wall Street analyst. That's all we have for now."

I felt the car surge forward as Bobby pressed down on the accelerator.

"So much for dinner," I said.


	5. Chapter 5

From the moment we arrived at Central Park that night, we ran nearly non-stop investigating the murders of the young parents. By Monday the body count was up to three, and although we had no lack of interviews, we had no solid leads.

The convenience store surveillance tapes arrived from Rochester, including the tape from the afternoon of our stake-out; they were stashed in Bobby's desk unseen. The name and phone number of Paul Whitlock's employer sat in a folder on my desk, along with the un-filled paperwork to subpoena his phone and credit logs. I managed to get Paul's EZ Pass records, and Bobby added a few pages of printouts from the Pennsylvania Motor Vehicle Department. I touched the folder every time we passed our desks - but we didn't have time to look at any of it.

On Tuesday evening when we got back to Major Case I snagged an empty conference room so Bobby and I could make a call to Mrs. Colson. Even though we had nothing new to tell her, we wanted to check in. Bobby put it on speakerphone and dialed.

When Mrs. Colson answered the phone she sounded fine, but as soon as we identified ourselves, her voice became tense – even angry.

"What did Paul tell you?" she asked. "I hope you didn't believe him!"

Bobby gaped at me with a stunned expression, and I knew I looked about the same. Whatever had happened, it couldn't be good.

Bobby said, "He, umm... Mrs. Colson, what did he tell you?"

"He said he has a lawyer, and they're going to overturn the custody decision." Her voice cracked. "He said I broke the terms of… of my guardianship by inviting you here. I don't think I can afford a lawyer. Can he do that - take me to court?"

My anger spiked in half a second. I wanted to choke Paul Whitlock for being such an arrogant bully. I signaled for Bobby to answer, then crossed my arms tightly.

He leaned closer to the phone. "Could you start at the beginning? I don't think we have the complete picture."

"Yes, all right, let me just sit down. I know he can't be right." She sounded a tiny bit calmer.

"So… when did you speak to Paul?" I asked.

"It was yesterday. At breakfast Adam told me he thought his father was coming," she said, "so I told him to go to Jeffrey's house after school, and I drove to the Quick-Stop."

Bobby's hand covered his mouth in shock. I quickly punched the mute button. "This is so bad," I said.

Mrs. Colson continued. "I waited there for Paul; when he came I confronted him about these secret meetings with Adam."

As she spoke, Bobby leaned way back, looking up at the ceiling. He ran his hands over his face and hair before sitting up straight again. He loosened his tie, then stood and paced behind my chair. I understood his agitation - it was like watching a train wreck from a distance, with no possibility of stopping it.

"He was furious, as you can imagine," she said. "But I was angry, too – I told him I knew what he'd been doing. Oh, I let him have it for confusing poor Adam and upsetting his schoolwork." She paused, and we heard her take a deep breath before continuing. "I know I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. Paul came right back at me in an awful rage. He said I had no right to bring you two into this. He was opening the case again in court, and he was going to bring charges against you."

I felt and heard Bobby stop moving – he went absolutely still for a few seconds. Then from behind me he abruptly dove for the mute button. His elbow landed on the table, and his other arm dropped across the back of my chair. "Mrs. Colson, did you tell him we'd been there?"

"Let me think," she replied. "No, I only told him to stop his dishonest meetings with Adam - as though he could buy his son's affection!"

It took me a second to catch the meaning of his question: how did Paul know we'd been in Rochester? If Mrs. Colson hadn't told him, who had?

Bobby was draped across the table, unaware that he was practically on top of me – good thing I liked his aftershave. I elbowed his chest as I asked, "Did you tell him you'd talked to the Rochester police?"

"No," she said, "I was so angry right then I didn't think of it. He didn't mention them – only you. And I was upset about having to go back to court…"

"Please don't worry about his threats," Bobby said. "You did nothing wrong by communicating with us."

I added, "All that talk of a lawsuit is empty – he's the one who broke the terms of custody."

"Thank you," she said. "I knew he couldn't be right, but it scared me just the same."

"Is Adam home now?" Bobby asked. He slid into the chair at my side and turned to look at me as he spoke. I nodded – Adam was my first guess, too, as the one who'd given Paul the heads-up.

"No," she said, "this is Boy Scout night. Jeffrey's mother will bring him home from their meeting in another half hour."

"How –um, how has he been since we were there?" Bobby asked. "Is he keeping the promises he made?"

"Well," she said, drawing out the word, "mostly. He did tell me about Paul coming..."

"But you think he may not be telling you everything," I said. "Did something happen?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "I usually drive him to soccer practice, but on Saturday he insisted on walking by himself. He asked me to come at the end to pick him up. He promised he hadn't seen his father or Allison. I don't know - maybe I'm overreacting."

We talked to her for another few minutes, and ended with a promise to visit again as soon as possible. She agreed to call Sergeant Brower to tell him about her confrontation with Paul – the local cops needed to be on the alert.

After we hung up the phone, neither of us moved. I felt a sense of frustration. Our current case was nowhere near solved, and the problems with Paul Whitlock were mounting. We weren't making progress anywhere.

Bobby said. "Paul must have heard about our trip to Rochester from Adam – but how? Is that why he never showed at the Quick-Stop?"

"Adam swore they weren't emailing," I said. "So how are they communicating? Snail mail?"

Bobby tapped on the table. "Whatever it is, it's what Adam's been holding back – this is what he didn't want us to find out last week."

"If it's letters," I said, "Mrs. Colson would know. She brings in the mail every day."

"Unless-" Bobby stood up suddenly, scraping his chair backwards. He took a few steps around the table, his hand ruffling through his hair. "...unless Paul sends the mail somewhere else – like a post office box."

His words hit me with a jolt. I sat up straight and turned to look at him. "There's a mailbox store on the same block as the Dunkin' Donuts."

"Adam can stop in and check for letters on his way home from school."

We were staring at each other, eyes wide. I said, "He hides it in his backpack and reads it in his room, or during school."

"It's a slow way to communicate," Bobby said, "but hard to detect. Paul can set up the times for their meetings. And this gives him more opportunity to persuade Adam than just their Quick-Stop meetings. If Adam sent a letter the same day we were there, Paul would have gotten it in time for his Rochester trip yesterday."

"So," I said, "it looks like you're not the only pen pal Adam has."

Bobby sat down next to me again. "Do you need to go home early tonight?" he asked.

I punched his arm. "We missed early a few hours ago, Bobby. But to answer the question you should have asked: yes, let's do some research on Paul now." We'd arranged to visit the director of the Carnegie Hill preschool first thing in the morning, but unless a call came in there wasn't anything to do on that case until then. "I'd better make a fresh pot of coffee."

We shut ourselves into the conference room with the Whitlock folder. I checked the Motor Vehicle records, while Bobby started combing through EZ Pass information.

"Got him," Bobby said, and thrust a sheet of paper across the table to me. "His EZ Pass was billed five times for the New York State Thruway to and from Rochester. Look…" He leaned over to stab a finger at the page. "The first trip was the day after Adam's birthday."

"That matches up exactly with Adam's account." I studied it for a few moments. "He didn't stay long. This shows he re-entered the Thruway less than an hour after he got there." I ran my finger down the list to check. "Yep, every time – and here's a Sunday – so we're not looking at business trips. Not too smart, to leave us a trail like this."

"He might have taken off the transponder unit and paid cash," Bobby said, reaching for the paper, "but some of the new sensors at toll booths are able to detect it anywhere in the car – even the glove compartment. If he hasn't checked his bill, he may not realize it."

"This should be enough for the DA to get us access to his phone and credit card records. And if we get a hit there..."

He stood and studied the map we'd pinned up, tracing a route with his finger through Pennsylvania and New York. "He comes north from Philly to Syracuse, and then takes the Thruway west to Rochester. It's possible he arranged business appointments elsewhere in New York as a cover..." Bobby circled the area in the western part of the state. "...and extended the trips to see Adam."

"We need to contact his employer to check that. But even if it is tagged onto a business trip, it still breaks the terms of custody," I replied. "You know, it doesn't make sense. He's already got two weekends each month to see his son. Judging from Adam's response, Paul didn't need to be so cloak-and-dagger about it – the kid wants to spend time with his father. Why not use the legal option?"

"It fits the profile," Bobby replied. He leaned back against the map, crossing his arms on his chest. "He wants to be the one setting the terms; he wants to give the orders. It grates to be told when he can see his son and under what conditions. That's where all this anger toward Mrs. Colson and us comes from."

"Well, guess what? The conditions will only be worse for him when the judge who decided his case finds out what's been going on."

"What about Adam? He loses again."

"That never occurs to Paul."

"Let's watch the videos," Bobby said, reaching for the door handle. "We only need to check after school each day for Paul's car or his wife's."

I quickly scanned the Motor Vehicle records. "That would be... a powder blue 2006 Camry or a black 2007 Ford Escape."

"Do you think there's anyone at the ADA's offices now?" Bobby asked. "We need that subpoena for his records."

I gathered all the papers and stacked them back into the folder. I smiled at Bobby as he stood in the open doorway. "I have a better idea, since neither of us is exactly a favorite over there. Is Captain Ross still in?"

Bobby leaned out into the squad room to look. "He's there."

"How about we fill him in and let him make the call? They may need some persuading at this time of night, and he's just the one to persuade them."

Bobby held the door for me and swept his hand toward the captain's office. "Eames, have I told you lately you're a genius?"


	6. Chapter 6

It was a whole week after our visit to Rochester when the pieces of the day care murder puzzle finally fell into place: Eleanor Reynolds had been set up by her daughter-in-law. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach as we raced to the Reynolds' home, and then to Carnegie Hill preschool. The situation was nearly as bad as I feared, and only Bobby's persuasive skills kept it from turning out even worse.

It felt like hours later that the school room was finally empty except for Bobby and me. The CSU techs were the last to leave, carrying off Marla's gun and her other belongings. There'd been a commotion in the hall made by the children being sent home, but it was finally quiet.

Bobby looked drained. He huffed out his breath in a shaky sigh and sank down onto one of the tiny kiddy chairs. He rested his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands.

I felt pretty shaken, too. I dragged over another mini chair and sat down facing him. I thought I should say something, but no words came to mind. It felt comforting just sitting there with him, so I waited and looked around the classroom. It was sunny and pretty. The only sign that a catastrophe had nearly happened here was the disarray of the little chairs.

His hand landed lightly on my knee, and I turned back to him.

"It was good you got those kids out," he said. "With her waving that gun around…"

"I know. I was afraid it'd go off while she had it pointed at you."

"She, umm…" He rubbed his forehead. "After she gave up pretending her son had been accepted, she seemed desperate enough that she might have killed herself."

"Although I noticed she recovered enough self esteem to try and throw blame on you for arresting her."

He didn't reply, and it came to mind that he might have taken Marla's selfish words seriously. He wasn't looking me in the eye.

A lot of things about my job make me mad – and my partner is sometimes at the top of the list. But right then what stuck in my craw was the tendency of so many guilty people like Marla to strike out at Bobby simply because he was able to draw confessions out of them with decency and sympathy.

Over the years, Bobby's opened pieces of his heart to many of the perps and victims we've encountered. Only a few have had the presence of mind or humility to appreciate the courtesy he shows them. I've often felt protective of him, though I try not to make a big deal of it.

At that moment, sitting on the uncomfortable little chair, I decided I couldn't let Marla's insult slide.

"Hey," I said. He was staring at the floor, and didn't look at me when I spoke, so I tapped his knee until he did. "Bobby. You're not riding along on Marla's guilt trip, are you?"

There was a long pause before he answered. "I was thinking," he said slowly, "how people can choose to do all sorts of cruel things, even criminal acts, and still think they're good parents – good people."

I hadn't guessed right about what he was thinking, but this sounded almost as depressing. "I've noticed people can rationalize nearly anything in their own behavior," I said.

"There's rationalizing, and there's… this…" His fingers fluttered in the air. "…pathological behavior."

"You realize, of course, the job brings us into contact with a lot more bad parents than good. They're not all Marla Reynolds or Paul Whitlock. Sometimes you get a Leanne Colson."

"True," he said.

"And on top of that," I said, leaning forward to make sure he looked me in the eye, "there are good detectives like us, who stop the bad parents from doing something even worse."

"Whenever we can," he said, and gave me his lopsided almost-grin.

Finally! He'd simply acknowledged my compliment without trying to shuffle it off. I knew neither of us needed constant congratulation, but after the tension we'd gone through, a little appreciation couldn't hurt. In fact, it felt very good.

"So let's clear this case," I said, "and then see what we can do to help Adam and Mrs. Colson get back on track."

I stood up - and groaned in surprise at the stiffness that had set into my legs and back from sitting in the kiddy chair. I held out a hand to Bobby. "Brace yourself for a painful reminder of middle age."

-*- -*- -*-

Our friend Sergeant Brower sent us the security tape that showed Paul Whitlock verbally assaulting Mrs. Colson in the parking lot of the convenience store. It was bad. Paul hadn't touched her, but the video quality was good enough to show her cowering back from him as he waved a fist around.

We made another call to her; she told us Paul hadn't showed up again, but he'd phoned when Adam was at school with more threats of law suits. She was trying to hide it from Adam, but the poor woman was a nervous wreck.

When we showed the new video to the ADA's office they went straight to the Family Court judge who'd decided the custody case four years ago. That same afternoon Bobby and I were called into Judge Leonard Thomas's chambers and questioned.

The result was an Order of Protection against Paul Whitlock. It rescinded his visitation rights and ordered him to stay away from the area surrounding Adam's school and home, and to stop all communication with Mrs. Colson and Adam.

On the following Monday morning we were on our way to Philadelphia to deliver the injunction. This time neither of us got to drive – we rode with the ADA assigned to the case. Michael Wollasky looked grumpy, but he turned out to have a decent sense of humor.

Wollasky intended to head for Paul's engineering firm in Center City, but Bobby suggested we stop first at Paul's house in the northern part of the city. "There's no way he's still at home now," Wollasky said, pointing to the digital clock on the dashboard, which showed 9:40. "Why waste our time?"

"It might not be a waste of time," Bobby replied. He leaned way forward from the back seat, hung his arm around my seat, and talked almost directly into Wollasky's ear. "Allison Whitlock is probably home. You never know, we could learn some interesting things from her."

"What do you mean?" Wollasky didn't turn to look at Bobby, but I could see his eyes darting over. He wasn't used to Bobby's up-close-and-personal style.

I replied, "She made some of those secret trips to Rochester, you know, but she might not be quite as eager as her husband to get Adam into their home."

"I get it," said Wollasky with a gravelly chuckle, "and you're hoping she'll be a little less careful about making incriminating statements. Okay – you have the directions?"

As soon as we got into Philly, Bobby asked Wollasky to pull over to a sidewalk pretzel vendor. Wollasky fished a dollar out of his pocket, handed it to Bobby, and said, "Get me a bag, too. Those things are probably junk, but I love 'em. Just never try to eat them on the second day."

"They get stale that fast?" I asked.

"Like a solid rock. You could break a tooth."

"Sounds like a great selling point," I muttered.

Bobby had his window open and was waving the money at the vendor, who hurried over with an armful of little paper bags. In another few seconds the transaction was done, and we were moving along with traffic.

Bobby pushed one of the bags at me. "Try it, Eames," he said, "they're fresh." Both men were tearing into their pretzels as though they hadn't eaten in days.

I tasted it, just to humor him. It was okay – probably better than the ones they sell from food carts in New York – but it was still just a pretzel. We never had to test out Wollasky's prediction about turning to stone, because he and Bobby divided the rest of my bag between them.

The Whitlock's house was in a nice suburban area – most of the houses were brick or fieldstone and had small, well-kept lawns, with mums and pumpkins decorating the front steps.

Allison Whitlock looked very young: her Motor Vehicle records said she was thirty, but she could have passed for a college student. She invited us into the house, explaining that Paul had left for his office two hours earlier.

"Mrs. Whitlock," Bobby began, "we're here about Paul's son, Adam. You've met him, haven't you?"

"Once or twice, with Paul," she said. "He's a nice boy. Did he – is he in trouble?"

"I'm afraid so," Bobby said. He gestured to the living room. "May we…?"

"Oh… yes, of course. Please… sit down."

Wollasky's eyebrows went up, and he nodded slyly in approval at Bobby. Allison didn't seem to realize she'd just admitted that she'd helped her husband violate the custody settlement.

As we sat down, Allison looked around at us apprehensively. "What kind of trouble is he in? Paul and I have been worried about him."

Bobby unbuttoned his suit jacket, laid his leather binder on his knee, and gazed sadly at her for a few moments before answering. "Do you also know Mrs. Colson, Adam's grandmother?"

"It's her, isn't it?" she said, suddenly animated. "Paul says she has no control over Adam. She doesn't supervise him properly, she allows him to eat any kind of junk food, lets him go off with children who have a bad influence on him. That's why we want…" She hesitated, uncertain about telling us more.

Bobby picked up her sentence. "That's why you want to help Adam, to bring him here with you, to a good environment. Is that right?"

"Well, yes. Paul is his father, after all – he knows what's best for Adam." She looked at us boldly, as though daring us to contradict her. Paul had done a good job brainwashing her. She continued, "A little time away will be good for us all. Adam and I need to get to know each other better."

Time away? So Paul had kidnapping in mind after all! Bobby and I didn't react to that bombshell, but Wollasky flinched.

I leaned forward and smiled. "Oh," I said, "are you planning a vacation with Adam? Something warm and sunny?"

Allison bit her lip before replying. Her confidence evaporated quickly. "Paul can tell you about it – he's actually the one making the plans." She stood abruptly. "I really need to get going with my morning errands, so if you'll excuse me…"

When we were back in the car, Wollasky shook his head. "She's probably calling him right now – is he likely to run?"

I said, "Paul's gone to a lot of trouble trying to get Adam away from his grandmother – apparently including kidnapping. If he bolts now it's all wasted effort."

"Eames is right," Bobby said. "He'll be there. He's convinced himself the custody decision is wrong, and that he's not doing anything illegal. We're the bad guys."

"Okay, next stop is his office," Wollasky said with a grin. "I watched that convenience store video. Your guy's got a temper on him, so after we hand him the paper I'm ready to duck."

Paul Whitlock worked in a tower in Center City. The office space was arranged as a big open bullpen in the center, with low-rise cubicle walls between desks, and offices or meeting rooms around the perimeter. Wollasky spoke to the receptionist and asked to be directed to Paul's office.

Before the girl could answer, we saw Paul striding toward us through the bullpen. He spoke loudly across the area. "How dare you come here?" Every head turned to look.

We waited until Paul reached us, and then Wollasky said quietly, "Mr. Whitlock, I'm from the New York City District Attorney's office. We need to talk to you privately. Is there an office we can use?"

Paul barely acknowledged him before glaring at Bobby and me. His voice dropped, and came out like a hiss. "I'm not speaking to any of you – get out and talk to my lawyer."

Wollasky looked around the office. Every eye in the place was still focused on us. "We can do this right here," he said, "or we can do this privately. It's up to you."

I heard Paul's teeth grinding as he shoved past me into the hallway. I jerked out of the way and backed solidly into Bobby; he steadied me with a hand on my back. I looked up at him for a second, and I knew he was as ticked off as I was – but we had to shrug it off. We followed Paul past the elevators into another office area, and then into an empty conference room.

As soon as the door closed Paul swung around fiercely, but before he could speak, Wollasky held the paper toward him.

"Mr. Whitlock," he said, "this is an Order of Protection, signed by Judge Leonard Thomas. It restrains you from any contact with your son, Adam Whitlock, or with his grandmother, Leanne Colson. You are prohibited from calling or communicating with them in any way, and from entering the area of their home and school."

Paul sneered. "You're out of your jurisdiction. You have no right to interfere in my family."

I snatched the paper from Wollasky and slapped it onto Paul's chest. "No, see," I said, "You're the one with no rights. Judge Thomas gave full parental custody to Leanne Colson, and that applies no matter where they or you live."

Bobby spoke up. His voice was quiet at first, but the intensity built as he went on. "We know you've been sneaking up to Rochester to see Adam secretly, trying to turn him against his grandmother – but it won't work." He inched closer. "You failed your family when Doreen and your sons needed your support. You ignored Adam for two years after the custody decision." Bobby leaned down and tilted his head to get into Paul's face. "Do you really think a lousy tee-shirt's going to make up for all that?"

Paul exploded. "Get out!" he screamed, and lunged forward.

Bobby had anticipated him, and was already opening the door for me and Wollasky. We left Paul to cool his temper, or punch a hole in the wall, or whatever he wanted.

Once we were inside the elevator, with the doors safely closed, Wollasky let out a huge breath. "That was exciting," he said. "Well worth the trip – even if you don't count the pretzels."

I was riding an adrenaline rush, and had to resist an urge to hug Bobby within an inch of his life for his perfect delivery of a dig at Paul. I settled for a big smile; he returned a quick grin and a wink.

"I'm sure this heady feeling will keep you going through the mountain of research you just volunteered for," Wollasky said. "Whitlock's personnel files, phone calls, court records, finances – it's all yours, my friends."


	7. Chapter 7

"He got the boy a passport?"

Captain Ross had stepped into our conference room that evening to ask for an update on the Whitlock case. He looked as though he only meant to stay a few minutes on his way home, but when we told him we'd discovered that Paul Whitlock had requested a passport in Adam's name, he came all the way inside and sat on the edge of the table.

"Assuming you're not joking," Ross said, "this guy Whitlock is looking worse and worse. What else have you got on him – does he have a gun?"

I tucked my hair behind my ear and gestured at the cluttered table. "No weapons registered to him, but other than that… take your pick – he's been busy, and not too careful about covering his tracks. He's using personal and sick days to go to Rochester – never on his allowed visitation days. It matches with EZ Pass, credit card charges…."

After our morning trip to Philadelphia, Bobby and I returned to One PP and immediately pulled all the records of Paul Whitlock we could get our hands on. Nearly every place we looked produced evidence that Paul was planning a lot more than enrolling Adam in a private school. Some of what we found was alarming.

"You're sure about the passport?" Ross asked.

Bobby picked up a folder and laid it open in front of the captain. "His credit card shows a charge for an online passport expediting service last month."

"Couldn't it be for himself or the wife?"

"No," Bobby said, reaching for a set of stapled sheets, which he held up in front of Ross. "Both of them got passports three years ago."

I added, "Allison's was for the first time, and Paul's had expired from his college days. They went to London for their honeymoon: very romantic in November."

"So they have seven years until they need to renew," Ross said, nodding. "It's got to be for the son."

Bobby slid another paper toward the captain. "Six weeks ago, Staten Island University Hospital processed a request for a copy of Adam's birth certificate. That's where Adam was born."

"And they gave it to him even though he's not the boy's legal guardian?" Ross looked back and forth between Bobby and me as though we were to blame. "I can't believe it didn't set off any red flags. Did he get the passport?"

"We're not sure," I replied. "The State Department regs say that a child must appear in person with the legal guardian to be issued a passport…"

Bobby picked up my thought. "…but the web site Paul used claims they can expedite a passport for anyone as long as you provide the right documents. We, uh, we haven't gotten a response from State yet whether the passport was issued."

"Judge Thomas should be able to get us that information," Ross said. He looked at his watch. "I'll make the call to him. So, he's got the boy's birth certificate, possibly his passport. I take it Whitlock didn't actually mean to enroll the boy in that private school?"

"York Valley Academy has no record of an application," I said, "or even an inquiry. It was just a pretext to get Adam away from his grandmother. And we have Allison's comment about planning 'time away' together."

"Captain," Bobby said, "he'll move quickly now that he knows we're aware of his actions. The restraining order won't make a difference to him."

"Have you notified the Rochester police?" Ross asked.

"Yes," I said. "They've been involved since our visit a couple weeks ago, and now they're adding a patrol car to the neighborhood. The school's also been warned about Paul."

"Good," Ross said, standing up. "What else do you need from me?"

I looked up at him and spread my hands to the stacks of papers. "It's time to bring him in."

"I agree," Ross replied, nodding his head. "Get the warrants typed up and I'm sure Judge Thomas will sign off. Keep the Philly police in the loop."

"And," Bobby said, "we need to go to Rochester again tomorrow. That's where Paul will be headed. Even if he doesn't have Adam's passport yet, it's only an hour to the Canadian border."

Captain Ross stared at him for a few seconds, and I thought he'd say no. What was it about Bobby that brought out his spiteful streak? Ross had asked us what we needed, so why balk at Bobby's request? I pushed my chair back noisily to draw his attention.

"What about the Reynolds paperwork?" Ross asked, obviously fishing for an excuse.

"We're good," I replied. "It's done."

There was another tense pause, but he finally said, "Okay, go. Keep in touch, and let the locals make the arrest if Whitlock shows up." He left without waiting for a reply.

"I don't believe him," I said. "What was that all about?" I'd been feeling hopeful that we were on good terms with Ross – at least for the moment – but his instant attitude change left me irritated.

Bobby shrugged, and began selecting papers. "Forget it." He looked disgusted.

We had to work with our captain, so it would be stupid to stir up more bad feelings. But I needed to be sure Bobby and I were in sync. I gave us a few minutes to settle down as we arranged the information for our warrant request. By the time I opened the form on my laptop he seemed better, though I was still ticked off.

"It wasn't you," I said without looking at him. My fingers were pounding harder than usual on the keyboard. "I have no idea what set him off, but it wasn't anything you did."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see him massaging the back of his neck. "It's... he, uh, I think he needs to remind me he's the captain."

"Yeah," I said, "well, I need to remind him he gave his okay for us to go to Rochester. I don't feel like spending another ten hours with my butt in that car seat." I opened a web browser to the NYPD site for booking travel, then turned the laptop so Bobby could see the screen. "Here we go: JFK to Rochester…" A few clicks brought up the available flights to Rochester for tomorrow morning.

I finally saw a smile on his face as he leaned over my shoulder and pointed to a line on the screen. "Let's take the one at eight forty."

-*- -*- -*-

Our first stop in Rochester the next day was the police station, where we met with Sergeant Brower and his captain. All patrol cars in the area were put on alert for the Whitlocks' vehicles. They also checked flights from Philadelphia since the previous day, but nothing turned up in Paul's name.

Captain Ross called while we were there. He told me Philadelphia cops had gone to the Whitlock house, but found it empty. Paul had called in sick to work. Only the Camry was in the driveway, so they were in the Ford SUV, and had probably made it to the Rochester area by now.

It was still before noon when we left the police station for Mrs. Colson's house - with a quick detour to a local farm stand. We'd called from the terminal at JFK to let her know we were on the way. She'd told us Adam had no school that day. We asked her to keep him at home.

"This isn't a holiday," Bobby said as we pulled out of the farmer's dirt lot in our rental car. "Why is school closed?"

"Teacher conferences," I replied, "which is as good as a national holiday when you're a kid. Unfortunately, it also works for Paul. Adam might not have been missed right away."

"But Paul didn't originally plan to take him this soon," he said. "He'd aim for Thanksgiving, so Adam would think they were going on a vacation. That's what Allison believes."

"So will he try today? We were only in Philadelphia yesterday - he hasn't had time to arrange anything, or contact Adam." I tapped the steering wheel. "He probably has some sort of contingency plan."

"I think it involves that post office box," Bobby said. In our whirlwind of research the previous day we'd found out Paul had rented a mailbox at the store along Adam's school route, just before Adam's eleventh birthday. "We need to talk to Adam about it."

Our arrival at Mrs. Colson's house was similar to our first visit: she greeted us with kisses and we handed her a bag of apples (Winesap, of course). Adam waited at the door, and seemed pleased when I hugged him. He offered his hand to Bobby, who shook it and then pulled him into a hug as well.

It felt like we were visiting relatives, though it occurred to me that this might not be familiar to Bobby, since he didn't have a lot of happy family experiences. I saw a fond smile on Mrs. Colson's face as she watched Adam choose to sit between Bobby and me on the sofa.

The warm fuzzy feeling faded quickly as we explained why we'd come. We began with the custody settlement, making sure Adam understood what was permitted for his father and what wasn't.

I patted Adam's arm as I said, "When the judge found out that your dad was coming here secretly – not on the days when your grandma was expecting him – he signed a special paper called a Restraining Order."

Adam looked back and forth between Bobby and me. "What does that mean?"

"It means he has to stop calling and coming until he talks to the judge," Bobby replied. "Right now the judge doesn't trust him, because he hasn't been following the rules."

"What…" Adam's voice wasn't steady. "What if he comes anyway?"

"Actually, we think he did," I said. "Today. And we think he wants to take you away with him – maybe out of the country."

Mrs. Colson gasped. Adam's eyes opened wide – clearly his father hadn't revealed that part of his plans.

Bobby laid his arm across the back of the sofa. His eyes met mine for a second and then he looked at the boy. "Adam, will you tell us about the post office box?"

It was almost funny to see Adam's reaction: he pushed himself back against the cushions, pulled his knees tightly against his chest, and leaned his forehead on his knees. This was what he'd been concealing.

Mrs. Colson asked, "What are you talking about? What post office box?"

Bobby put his hand comfortingly on Adam's neck. "Paul rented one at a store nearby. He's been using it to communicate with Adam since… um, since your birthday – is that right?"

Adam's head bobbed in a Yes, though he didn't look up. Mrs. Colson looked stunned; I signaled with a finger on my lips to remain quiet.

Bobby's voice was gentle as he repeated his question, "Will you tell us about it?"

Adam nodded again, and we heard his muffled voice. "My father's in a lot of trouble, isn't he?"

"Not because of you," I said. "Adam, you're not to blame for any of this."

Bobby leaned closer and spoke softly to Adam, "Alex is right. You're not in trouble, but we need you to tell us the whole truth."

Adam slowly uncurled himself. When he finally looked up he said, "I'll take you there." He looked hesitantly at Mrs. Colson. "Grandma, can you… Is it all right if I just…?"

"You want to go with the detectives?" she asked. To her credit, she didn't look hurt at his reluctance to reveal his secret in front of her.

"Is it okay?"

"Of course it is, sweetheart, but I need you to promise you'll stay with them." Mrs. Colson stood up and reached her hand toward Adam. She hugged him, then led us to the door. As we put on our coats, she said, "I'll have lunch ready when you come back. Please, please be careful. I love you, Adam."

Once we were outside Bobby ruffled Adam's hair as he said, "How about if we walk? It's not far."

I grinned at him over Adam's head. Walking would give us more time to talk with him, and in a less stressful environment. The weather was decent: cold but not windy.

"So," I said as we started down the sidewalk, "does your friend Jeff live around here?"

Adam pointed. "Yeah, on Paulson Street, a couple of blocks over."

I asked, "Does he know anything about what's been happening with your dad?"

Adam shook his head. "No, my dad said not to tell anybody."

"It must have been hard for you," Bobby said, "keeping secrets from your grandmother and friends." He rested his hand on Adam's shoulder. "Especially since it went against what you learned in Boy Scouts."

"I wanted to tell Grandma, but he said she'd get in trouble."

My resentment against Paul grew with each thing I learned about him. Only a selfish low-life would treat his own son this way.

"But you knew," Bobby said. "You knew the right thing to do, didn't you?" He had a soft spot for the boy, but he wanted him to act responsibly. Bobby was always honest, and he expected the same from those he cared about.

"Yes," Adam replied. "I was going to ask Father Michael when I went to Boy Scouts. He's not a Scoutmaster, but he comes to our meetings. But before we had a meeting, my dad told Grandma about that school – York Valley – and then she knew."

"And then we came to visit," I added. "Did that worry you?"

"Sort of," he said. "Well, yeah, pretty much. But I wanted to see you." He looked over at me shyly.

I held out my hand and was pleasantly surprised when he took it; I let our gloved hands swing as we walked. "We wanted to see you, too," I said. "We were concerned about you and your grandma. So… you got letters from your dad at the mailbox?"

"A couple," he said.

"What is it you didn't want to tell us in front of your grandma?" Bobby asked.

"I, um," Adam said. He took a deep breath. "Dad gave me a cell phone, and I keep it in the mailbox." His head hung down, and I could feel his tension - but at least he kept a grip on my hand.

A cell phone! Bobby and I looked at each other over his head. That certainly explained the mystery of communication between Paul and Adam. That's why Paul hadn't showed up the day we waited at the Quick-Stop – he knew we were coming.

Bobby said, "You'd call him on your way to or from school, right? And I guess he left you voice messages to let you know when he'd be coming to Rochester."

"Yes," he said, "but ever since you were here, I only turned it on one time." Adam looked up at Bobby earnestly. He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a key-ring. It had a single small key on it – exactly the size of a PO box key – and a paper tag. He handed it over to Bobby. "The number there is for voicemail."

"Thanks. So… you talked to him on Saturday, before your soccer game," Bobby said, tucking the key into his coat pocket.

He nodded. "I said I couldn't use the cell phone any more – it wasn't honest to hide it from Grandma. He was pretty mad about it."

Once again Bobby patted his shoulder. "You're in a tough situation, Adam, but you tried to do the honorable thing. Alex and I are both proud of you."

"Very proud," I said.

"Thanks. Are you, um…" Adam looked from Bobby to me. "Are you guys, like… going together or something?"

I shouldn't have been surprised at the question, but it caught me off guard. I hoped Bobby would have a good answer, but my clever partner was unprepared, too – he cleared his throat, and when I peeked over at him he was like a deer in the headlights. I'd have to handle this one.

I gave Adam's hand a squeeze and said, "We're partners, so we spend a lot of time together for our work, and we care about each other – but we're not dating."

This was a subject we avoided. I tried to avoid even thinking about it, mainly because I could never imagine a happy ending. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what Bobby thought. There were too many possibilities that led to catastrophe.

"But you're friends, right?" Adam persisted. "Best friends?"

"Yes." Bobby's voice was very soft. "Best friends." I didn't dare look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me, gently drawing me. He wanted me to acknowledge his words. That was fair - so why did I feel nervous?

I finally turned toward him and simply raised my eyebrows. What a relief that he looked calm, and even amused. But he didn't look away - of course he wanted to know if I agreed we were best friends. I did, but I wasn't ready to explore that thought, at least not in front of Adam.

"Here's the place," Adam said as he pulled me forward at a run. Lucky me: I got to avoid the uncomfortable topic. He yanked the door open and started to rush in, but paused and stepped back to hold it open for me. Bobby was yards behind us.

I touched Adam's cheek as I entered, but my smile faded the next second as I saw who was standing at the wall of PO boxes: Paul and Allison Whitlock.


	8. Chapter 8

"Dad? "You're here?" Adam's words squeaked out. He was still holding the door open.

"You!" Paul wasn't looking at Adam, but at me. His eyes bugged out and he stalked toward me angrily. "Get away from my son!"

I couldn't believe his stupidity: he breaks the restraining order just 24 hours after receiving it, and then threatens a police officer? My only hesitation would be in decking him in front of his son.

But he never reached me. Adam darted between us, yelling for him to stop; and Bobby's arm came from behind me, holding Paul away.

Paul's mouth was moving, but nothing came out – probably because Bobby was shoving him backward all the way to the service counter, and pressing him there with an arm across his chest. Bobby showed his shield to the clerk and told him to call the police. Allison hadn't moved since I entered the store; she looked terrified.

"Paul Whitlock," Bobby said, "you're under arrest for violating the Order of Protection. The Rochester police will be here in a few minutes." That got Paul's attention: he was still fuming, but he stopped resisting Bobby, who withdrew his arm as he continued. "Think of what Adam is seeing right now. Give him something to respect in his father."

Paul hadn't looked past his own selfish interests four years ago when Doreen was sinking into her suicidal depression. He didn't now, even with Bobby giving him a chance to hold onto some dignity. His voice was tight with anger as he said, "This is your fault! You took my son away from me four years ago, and you're turning him against me now. His grandmother fills his head with useless religion, and teaches him to hate his own father!"

"Dad… no…" Adam whispered. He jumped when I touched his shoulder. He turned to look up at me – he was near tears. I put my arm around him and pulled him close.

Bobby glared at Paul as he pointed to Adam. "You spent so much time and energy to see him secretly, as though you had to steal his love, but you didn't need to do that. Your son wants to love you. The only person standing in the way is you."

I knew Bobby was controlling his anger to spare Adam's feelings. That was why he hadn't handcuffed Paul. But Paul seemed determined to waste every chance he was given. We heard the sound of cars pulling into the parking spaces outside the store – probably the police - and it goaded him to a new burst of anger.

"He belongs with me!" Paul cried as he slammed his fist against the wall.

Bobby tilted his head and leaned close – right in Paul's face. I always got a kick out of him taunting the perps. "Really?" he said. "Why?"

The question stumped Paul. It was telling that he hadn't made a single move to touch his son, or even to speak directly to him. He'd hardly looked at the boy. His focus was entirely on himself - what a jerk.

Bobby said, "The correct answer would be, 'Because I love him.'"

The door opened behind me, and someone touched my shoulder. "Detective Eames." Sergeant Brower and his partner entered the store.

"Let's wait outside," I whispered into Adam's ear. The policemen were patting down Paul and reading him his rights.

"Can I – can I talk to him?" Adam whispered back. His eyes were huge.

I turned to the cops. They hadn't handcuffed Paul yet. "Guys, give them a minute, please."

Everyone took a step back as Adam put his arms around his father and pressed his cheek against Paul's chest. Paul obviously didn't know what to do with the show of affection; he finally patted Adam's back awkwardly.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Adam said, "I'm sorry. Please, just… be careful."

We waited for Paul to say something, but he was silent - he didn't have much practice in tenderness. I wasn't surprised, but at least he wasn't leaving his son with a temper tantrum as his parting memory.

Sergeant Brower kindly steered Adam back to me. I gestured to Bobby to let him know which direction we'd go, and led Adam outside.

People had gathered in the parking lot to see the police activity. Adam definitely didn't need to see his dad led away in handcuffs, so I headed for the Dunkin' Donuts, which was only two doors away in the little strip mall. Inside, I put him in a seat facing away from the street, and sat next to him. I rested my elbow on the back of his chair and ran my fingers through his hair. My nephew liked to have his hair stroked when he was upset, and I hoped I was a comfort to Adam, too.

We were still sitting like that when Bobby joined us about ten minutes later. He pulled up a chair on the other side of Adam. "You were very brave," he said, patting Adam's knee.

Adam kept staring straight ahead. "Did they take him to jail?"

"They took him to the police station," Bobby replied. "He'll go before a judge, and will probably be allowed to post bail."

"Then he can go home?"

"Yes. He'll also have to see the judge in New York City," Bobby said. "He'll decide if your dad's allowed to come back to Rochester."

Adam leaned his elbows on his knees, and dropped his chin onto his fists. Bobby looked questioningly at me, but I just shrugged – I could read Bobby, but I didn't know what was going on in Adam's head.

Finally Adam said softly, "He probably shouldn't come back for a long time."

"Is that what you want?" I asked.

"Well…" He turned toward me, then Bobby. "I mean, he was going to take me away, wasn't he?"

"We think so," Bobby said. He didn't say more, but I was sure they'd found passports on Paul.

Adam curled his body over his knees again. "I wouldn't have gone – I wouldn't."

"We believe you," I said, rubbing his back. "You didn't really want to go to that private school, did you?"

Adam shook his head. "No. I shouldn't have told Grandma I did. But… I don't know. It felt like I did the wrong thing no matter what. I mean, either I went against Dad or Grandma."

"I know," Bobby replied. "I know. Sometimes there's no good choice."

Adam straightened and turned toward Bobby. "Did it happen to you, too?"

"Not the same as this," he said, "but yes… I ended up hurting a friend."

I had to hand it to Adam: he was innocently hitting all our sore spots today. Bobby and I had been in many no-win situations, but I was sure he was talking about the time of his suspension, when he was offered the undercover job as the only way to get back his badge. I hadn't made things any easier for him with my stubborn grudge. We'd finally cleared the air between us, but the reminder was still painful. I tried to swallow the lump that suddenly materialized in my throat.

"Who?" Adam asked.

Bobby took a long, slow breath and let it out. "Alex."

Adam swung around to stare at me. "Were you mad at him?"

"I was. Very mad."

"Even though you liked him?"

I'd been looking at Adam, but at that question my eyes rose right into Bobby's gaze – and stayed there. "I let my temper get the best of me for a while," I said. "That was wrong. But we apologized to each other; we talked about it."

"And now?"

I arched my eyebrows at Bobby. "Now we're okay. We're close again."

"That's good," Adam said. He fidgeted in his seat and sighed loudly. "But my dad…"

"Give it time, Adam," Bobby said. "There's always hope. And I know for a fact your grandma's not angry at you."

"I know – she's really… she's great."

I stood up. "Why don't we get back to her – she'll be worried by now, and I don't know about you guys, but I'm hungry for lunch. Adam, can you wait outside for a minute?"

"Sure." Adam scanned the parking lot before going out. The crowd that had come to see the excitement was gone.

When the door had closed again I said, "Paul had passports?"

Bobby nodded. "All three. Brower took the cell phone, too."

"Why'd you say he'll be allowed out on bail? He looks like a flight risk to me."

"Adam would be the reason for flight. Without him…" Bobby shrugged. "Besides, he'll probably have to put his house up as bail."

"Ah! Paul the tightwad isn't about to risk losing his house." I saw Adam looking in the window. "Ooh, don't tell him I said that."

Bobby nodded automatically, but then turned to face me fully with an amused expression.

"Forget about it," I said, dragging him along by his sleeve. "Come on… Boyfriend."

That wiped the wicked grin off his face in a hurry.

-*- -*- -*-

I stuffed my coat into the overhead luggage compartment and looked back at Bobby as he ushered Paul Whitlock down the aisle of the plane. I shook my head. This was not the way I'd hoped to end our trip to Rochester.

Lunch at Mrs. Colson's had been quiet, but oddly enough not particularly awkward or sad. Adam hadn't said much; he looked relieved. Both of them needed a session with their counselor, but I was betting they'd be okay.

We'd been saying our goodbyes when Captain Ross called my cell. The Rochester judge had decided to send Paul back to New York City for arraignment there. Calls had been going back and forth between the two judges, and then to the DA and Major Case. It was all decided by the time the captain called: since Bobby and I were conveniently available, we'd been volunteered to deliver Paul Whitlock.

We'd originally booked a late afternoon flight to JFK, but ended up on the 8:30 PM flight. Sergeant Brower and his partner brought Paul to meet us at the airport.

Paul slid into a window seat, buckled in, and immediately turned to stare out the window. Good. I didn't want to be with him, either. Fortunately the plane wasn't crowded, so we'd been able to reserve seats in the same row on either side of the aisle. I took the other window seat and gestured for Bobby to join me. I tipped up the armrest between the seats – that would give him a few extra inches. These commuter planes bordered on claustrophobic even for people my size; someone as tall as Bobby must dread a flight of any length.

He stowed his coat and lowered himself into the seat. "Thanks," he said, indicating the armrest.

I wiggled over another inch and clicked my seatbelt shut. "Did you get through to Ross?" I asked.

"Mmm-hmm. He's sending a couple of uniforms to meet us at JFK."

"Is he still hostile?" I asked in a low voice. Bobby frowned. "You want me to pick another word? Antagonistic? Touchy?"

"Eames…"

"Look, Bobby, for what it's worth, you're not the one who starts it."

"Not worth much," he mumbled.

"Yes it is," I said. "To me, anyway. He knows what buttons to push to be as annoying as possible, and some days he won't stop pushing them. Why would he do that? I've felt like clocking him at times."

"He does that to you, too?" he asked. I loved that slow blink of Bobby's when he was surprised.

I elbowed him. "Yes, but I usually manage to hold my tongue until he's out of range, whereas you come back with the exact thing that pushes all his buttons, too."

"I'll have to work on that."

"You want me to kick you under the table when I see it happening? You know, like a secret signal?"

He grinned and whispered, "You might enjoy that too much."

The flight attendant made her way down the aisle, closing the overhead compartments and checking seat belts. Paul was still turned toward his window – he'd do us a favor if he ignored us for the whole flight. Bobby and I had gained a lot of ground in our relationship lately; it felt great when he relaxed enough to joke with me.

The plane backed out of the gate and began taxiing. Bobby interrupted my line of thought. "But you know," he said, "it doesn't turn out much better even if I don't take the bait."

"Hmm? Oh." He was still on Ross. "That's why I said it's not you." I didn't want to talk about the captain for the whole trip home – time to change the subject. I glanced at Paul, then leaned close to speak into Bobby's ear. "What do you want to do about Mrs. Colson's invitation for Thanksgiving?"

Bobby looked over, too. The engines were revving loudly enough to keep our conversation private. "Well," he said, shifting a little in his seat to face me, "I'd rather not go on Thanksgiving Day. And, uh, you'll be busy with your family." He looked hesitant as he studied my face. "I thought maybe I'd go… Saturday?"

Dear Bobby. He'd worded it vaguely because he was unsure of me. Mrs. Colson had asked us to come for any part of the holiday weekend that we could, and Adam had jumped in eagerly. I smiled at the memory of him clinging to Bobby's hand. I was used to nieces and nephews begging like that, but that sweet feeling was a new experience for him – there was no reason to resist it.

The captain announced that we'd been cleared for take-off, so I didn't try to answer Bobby until we were well into the air.

The main cabin lights were off, and most people turned off their reading lights. Paul had tilted his seat back and closed his eyes. I stretched up to turn off our lights and said, "So… Saturday after Thanksgiving's good for me, too. We should take my car. I know yours is a much cooler ride, but I'm thinking of all those hours sitting in bucket seats."

"No, it's comfortable," he said. "Really – you'll be fine."

"Are you gonna let me drive?" I immediately bit my lip. That was a girlfriend kind of thing to say, and considering Adam's questions and my teasing about him being my boyfriend, it was terrible timing.

"Sure - both ways if you want," he said. He sounded eager and happy, so maybe he didn't catch my slip.

I didn't want to analyze whether his response was a boyfriend kind of thing to say, so I steered toward a safer subject. "Let's make sure we request the day off," I said, trying to sound casual. "After last Thanksgiving, the department owes us an uninterrupted holiday."

He nodded, and we were quiet for a while. He snuck his leg into the aisle to stretch; I slid off my shoes and stared out at the darkness.

"Do you really want-" Bobby said suddenly, "I mean, you don't have to go. It'll be a long day, away from your family."

I pushed my hair back and scowled at him. I half stood and pulled my knee onto the seat so I was sitting on my foot – that made me almost as tall as him. I wanted to glare at eye level.

"First of all," I said, and then took a deep breath. I reminded myself to keep my voice down. "I get plenty of time with my family, and you know it. I told you I want to go - I meant it." I leaned toward him in my best Major Case Detective intimidation style. "Don't you want me to go?"

"Yes, I do! I just meant… I thought… You know, the long trip, and… You might have other plans…" He was unnerved.

I didn't let myself smile yet. "Second, I like Adam and Mrs. Colson just as much as you do, and it'd be nice to visit them without all this… stress. So I'm going. We're going."

I'd done a good job bullying him – he nodded, his eyes round and nervous.

"All right, that's settled then," I said, and gave him a little space. "Adam's a great kid, and he's got a chance to become a decent, honest man."

"Thanks to Mrs. Colson."

"I agree. You know, it's not a bad place to grow up." I leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "…except for that hideous brown wallpaper she's got all over the house."

It took him a couple of seconds to register what I'd said. I expected him to laugh out loud, but instead he wagged his index finger in my face. "Eames! I'm telling her you said that."

I slid my leg out from under me and dropped back into my seat. "She won't believe you – she likes me better."

That did get a chuckle out of him. We settled as comfortably as we could, and it seemed like a short time until we were descending toward the airport. Paul had fallen asleep – he'd need the rest, considering what was ahead for him.

The attendant was going up and down the aisle collecting trash and telling us to prepare for landing when Bobby turned to me.

"Would you like to… go out sometime… dancing, maybe?"

I felt my mouth fall open, but I couldn't pull myself together enough to close it. Did he just ask me out on a date?

"I've been thinking about it for a while," he said, looking as though he'd like to be pacing and flapping his hands around. "It's not because of what Adam said."

I was still sitting there like a statue.

He continued quickly, "Just for fun – you know, for fun."

Fun: that word clicked. I'd been telling myself for weeks that Bobby and I deserved a diversion from the pressure of work. Here it was. Why should I be surprised that he'd been thinking the same thing?

He'd pulled us into an area that made me nervous. It wasn't department regs that bothered me, but the possibility that we might mess up our partnership. If we start dating, what happens next?

"Ummmm," I said, scrambling for an answer. The noise of the landing gear opening made it hard to think clearly. Fun. Could we really go out just for fun, without making it complicated? We were already complicated! But I had to admit I wanted to try. I was more comfortable with Bobby than with any man I'd known since Joe. He was a good dancer, too.

He was patiently watching me, letting me follow my flailing thoughts. Everyone else in the plane was probably gazing out the windows, trying to identify landmarks as we dropped lower and lower for landing, but Bobby and I sat there blinking at each other.

He must have seen my expression changing, softening. "How about this Friday?" he said.

We jerked forward as the plane touched down and the pilot hit the brakes.

"Bobby, I don't know…"

"There's a - a club in Brooklyn. You'll like it."

I was already thinking of a dress I could wear, which was ridiculous, since I hadn't even made up my mind to accept. I studied the headrest in front of me until the plane stopped at the gate.

Bobby moved across the aisle to sit next to Paul. People were taking their things out of the overhead compartments, but we didn't get up until everyone else was gone. I pulled down Bobby's coat and mine, and led the way up the aisle, trying to clear my mind.

When we reached the security area we saw our welcoming committee: Michael Wollasky with two uniformed cops.

"Hi, kids," Wollasky called out. "How was Rochester?"

"Peachy," I said, and pointed over my shoulder toward Paul. "He's all yours."

The officers came forward. Paul was sullen, but said nothing as they handcuffed him and led him away.

Bobby and I talked for a few minutes with Wollasky, and I felt myself fading. I could have kissed him when he told us we weren't needed any more tonight. We were expected for Paul's arraignment in Judge Thomas's courtroom at nine in the morning - which was early enough that we didn't have to appear at our own squad room until afterward.

Wollasky walked with us to the curb, where a police car was waiting for him. He jokingly offered us a ride in the back seat with Paul, then left with a promise to buy us coffee in the morning.

I hadn't looked at Bobby since getting up from the airplane seat. Now, as we waited for the shuttle bus to the long-term parking lot, I took a deep breath and faced him.

"All right, let's try it," I said. "I could use some fun - we both could." Bobby's eyes lit up and a huge smile appeared. Suddenly he looked like the Bobby I knew seven years ago. I held up both hands to stop whatever it was he was going to say. "But right now I'm starving. Let's find a diner and we can talk about it there."

"'Kay." He clasped his hands behind his back, took a deep breath and straightened up to his full height. I expected him to go into maximum restless mode, but he seemed calm – at least outwardly.

I wasn't calm. I was bouncing from excitement to regret to anticipation to dread – I was only certain that I didn't want to take back my word. Even if it was just to satisfy my curiosity, I wanted to go out with Bobby. I wanted us to have a good time together.

Our discussion at the diner was going to be very interesting.

-*- -*- -*-

The End

(To be continued in another story)

-*- -*- -*-


End file.
